popularity never mattered much to me
i really just wanted to get through the days unseen
and even now, i feel like i'm constantly hiding
i try not to look in the mirror
so even i won't know i'm there
the only person i ever wanted to see me left and broke me
she took every part of me that mattered and left it shattered
and i don't really care if anyone else ever looks at me again

I make myself a ****** in a river rushing with hopeful ambition.
I listen to the whispers and jot mental notes on the subleties of conversation:
The gilded mistakes of over confidence and deviancy.
The honesty of misreading a situation.
The defeat in his voice, darkening eyes and flattened smile when she affirms the 'no' with which the conversation began.
All in all, a quite enjoyable evening for the ******.

A man with no home saw the anger in our eyes and asked if we had just been in a war, not knowing that the war still rages on. Our home is a war zone where the kitchen tables rumbles like thunder and the walls shake from bomb attacks. Sadness fills rooms with saltwater and white sharks feeding on misunderstandings and words that cannot be taken back ones spoken. A man with no home knows more about homes than the people living in them. Maybe that is why my father will not acknowledge the homeless.